


Wait- Fuckin’ What?!

by AronKBurns, wineandweens



Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Amnesia but not in the usual way, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Memory Loss, Modern Setting, Secret Relationship, Some Humor, Tumblr requested, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 15:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20950850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AronKBurns/pseuds/AronKBurns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wineandweens/pseuds/wineandweens
Summary: George finds Jorel sprawled out on the floor in front of the main stairway in his own home, unconscious with his head bleeding. The culprit; a sand-stuffed cat toy.





	Wait- Fuckin’ What?!

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by anonymous on Tumblr

“How long is Jay gonna be in the hospital for?”

“Not too long. They just have to stitch him up and shit, make sure there’s nothing else wrong with him.”

“Damn, bro. What the fuck even happened?”

George sighed into the phone and shook his head, despite knowing that Jordon couldn’t see his flabbergasted look. “Man, his dumbass tripped on a cat toy while going down the stairs. Split his head wide open,” he exaggerated a bit. “And, Vanessa's out of state for the next week and a half, which means she won’t be here to watch over him, so, _ I _ gotta be the one to do it,” George huffed. He was always better at expressing his worry through verbal annoyance, rather than showing genuine concern. “He’s lucky I even found him when I did, otherwise who knows how long he would’ve been laying on the floor like that. Tiger would’ve eaten both his eyes by now.” 

George paused from his phone call to peer through the glass door of Jorel’s hospital room, the doctor currently tending to him. When it appeared as if the doctor was finally finishing up with what he was doing to Jay, George chimed in again, interrupting whatever Jordon was blabbering about. “Hey, man, I gotta go,” George muttered, lowering his voice when the door was pushed open by the attending nurse. “Yes, Jord—I’ll let you know if there are any updates… yes, alright, Jordon... yes, okay—bye. _ GOODBYE _ , Jordon,” George finally clicked the end call button; it did _ not _need to be that hard to get Jordon off of the phone. But in a way, Jordon’s constant childish and difficult nature was just one of the many reasons why George loved him. 

“How is he?” George asked, looking up from his phone when the doctor approached him. The doctor held a typically somber expression on his face. “Oh, he’ll be just fine,” the doctor commented, looking back at his patient from the doorway. “That must’ve been quite a fall down the stairs. What was it he tripped on, again...?” The doctor looked at George. “Cat toy,” George embarrassingly finished the professional’s sentence. “You know… the one that’s shaped like a mouse, filled with… anyway, about Jorel?” George furrowed his brows, wanting to hear on the condition of his close friend and not spend his time describing animal products into any further detail.

“Jorel has suffered what we like to call a grade three concussion—a traumatic, but a relatively mild injury to the brain. He may experience some dizziness, confusion, and difficulty balancing for the next few weeks and months but otherwise, he will recover just fine with no major long-term effects.” The doctor silenced for a moment and scribbled on his clipboard. While it was probably just a prescription write-up, George watched the scribbling fall on paper; he was very sure his daughter could’ve done a much better job compared to what the doctor was attempting to write. “Just make sure he takes it easy and have him avoid any alcohol, driving, or physical activity for the next couple weeks. Have him drink plenty of fluids. After fourteen days, we will have him come back to have the staples removed from his head. Have a good day, Mr. Ragan.” 

George blinked after the doctor gave him the low-down, looking back over to Jorel with worry despite the doctor’s positive prognosis. “Yeah, thanks, Doc,” George mumbled under his breath once he was handed Jay’s paperwork, the older male flipping through the forms and prescriptions. “This way, Mr. Ragan,” spoke the nurse, who appeared from out of nowhere. She smiled, holding her arm out to guide George into the room. George was finally getting a chance to go in and visit Jorel since bringing him into the emergency room a few hours prior.

“Hey, man. How you feeling?” George asked with a smile. Jorel was silent and stared ahead of him, almost as if he was in a daze. George shrugged off the lack of response; after all, the guy _ did _ just bust his head open on a staircase - he couldn’t be too hard on him. George stepped up close and took a peek down at the crown of Jorel’s head where the hair was matted, crusted over with drying blood. There was a fresh row of five staples holding his scalp together. “Looks gnarly, man. But hey, it’s a good thing chicks dig scars, ey?” Again, there was no response from Jorel, not even a chuckle. Sighing, George sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. “I’m sure you’re wondering, but I did call and let Vanessa know what happened, she—” George paused when Jorel made a puzzled face. The dark-haired male tilted his head to the side, “Who?” George matched Jay’s confused expression. “Er, what? You know... Vanessa, your wife? Who you’ve been married to for the past three years?” Jorel made a pained face; he was drawing up a complete blank. George blinked. _ Shit. _

Jorel’s face scrunched up before finally moving his mouth to speak, “What f-fuckin’ happened last night?” He seemed to have some trouble speaking. George figured it all had to do with the injury but he didn’t expect the bassist’s memory to just seemingly vanish. “You fell, bro, real fuckin’ hard too. You had us worried.” George held a straight face; _and_ _you still have me worried. _Jorel nodded that he understood, looking around the small room. The fluorescent lighting caused him to squint his hazy brown eyes, feeling more sensitive than usual. “That… explains why my head hurts,” Jorel frowned as he reached up, feeling at his hair, his fingertips grazed across the metal staples, making him wince and pull them away. 

George frowned, the lines of stress tightening on his forehead as he watched his friend, “Let's… get you back to your place. You need to rest and eat ‘n shit. I'll invite the guys over when you're settled.” He bit his lip, “You do remember the others, right?” George asked. Jorel's face tilted down, looking at the white hospital sheets as he seemed to rack his brain for information. “Uh,” Jay started, “like... like Jordon and A-Aron?” George let a small sigh of relief; _ He isn't all gone. _“Yeah, exactly,” George set his hand on Jorel's shoulder, choosing to ignore the second name said by him, “Our friends; Dylan, Jordon, and Danny. We can talk to them all later, okay? After you get some rest.” George spoke a little slower and softer, assuming it'd make it easier for Jorel to understand. Jay nodded to agree, exhaling deeply. “Aron must be so worried,” he pouted, clasping his hands in lap. George made a face, reaching down to grab hold of Jorel’s elbow, easing him up and out of the hospital bed. “Uh, yeah... sure, man.” George studied the side of Jay’s face, pondering whether the doctor’s diagnosis was accurate. Was he sure that it was a concussion and not an aneurysm? Because Jorel sure seemed concerned over an ex-friend who hadn’t been relevant in their lives for years now. 

\----

“Watch your step,” George helped Jorel into his home, guiding him through the door and shutting it behind them. Jorel buried his dark brows, “I got it, George,” he ensured, though appreciative of the support. “I only hit my head. I didn’t lose my legs, too.” George rolled his eyes, still assisting Jorel to the couch, “You fell down the stairs because you tripped on a _ cat toy, _ Jorel, how much confidence do you think I have in you?”

Jorel looked around his living room, noticing the sets of various masks that were hung up on the burgundy-colored walls. Beside them, a framed platinum record of Swan Songs. _ When the hell did Swan Songs hit platinum? _ Other albums released since then were also hung, along with photographs of life events, guitars, different relics of his accomplishments - and yet, _ nothing _ appeared familiar. The room he sat in, the entire house was even new to him. _ How can I even afford a fuckin’ house? _ Why didn’t he remember? 

“Jorel?” George tilted his head, Jorel finally coming back down from his thoughts. “What?” Jay responded, zoning in on his friend. George blinked his blue eyes a couple of times and exhaled heavily. “I said… Do you want me to call Vanessa so you can talk to her?” Jorel rubbed his eyes, letting out his own breath of exhaustion, “I… wouldn’t know what to say to her,” he said, honestly, still so baffled over everything around him. Jay let his eyes wander further around his home when he spotted a cat watching him. He impulsively got up and stumbled toward the animal. “Dude, Jay, what the fuck? You’re not supposed to be moving around,” George grumbled, putting a stop to Jorel and getting him back on the couch. “But… there’s a cat.” 

George sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. “That cat nearly _ killed _ you, Jay… well, figuratively.” Tiger approached his owner, hopping into his lap and curling up. Letting out a chuckle, Jorel gave Tiger’s back a rub, a purr sounding from the feline. “Can… Aron come over?” Jorel asked then, looking back up to George. George didn’t quite know what to say, the sudden and very annoying vibration from his pocket causing him to look away from Jorel. “Jesus, Jord…” George groaned, finding text after text, missed call after missed call. “How about we start with those who _ matter _ first? I think Jordon wants to swing by.” Jay gave a hurt look, his brown eyes averting their gaze from his friend. “Why… would you say that? Aron matters to me.” He knew George and Aron got along pretty well so he was confused why George would suddenly seem disgusted by the latter. 

George rolled his eyes, attempting to text Jordon back. “He _ used _ to matter before he turned into a prick, remember?” he muttered, finally giving up on texting and just dialing Jordon’s number, holding the phone up to his ear. Jorel’s face drooped. Whatever George was talking about, that couldn’t have been right. No, that wasn’t _ his _ Aron. While George was preoccupied on the phone, attempting to get at least one word in, Jorel pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. He looked at the high-tech device - it was so different compared to his SideKick. It was nearly dead, with about a quarter of battery left. After figuring out how the strange device worked, he scrolled through his contacts, finding Aron’s number. A small smile returning back on his lips; _ I’ll show him. _

\----

Jordon busted through the front door a half an hour later, dragging Dylan in behind him. “Shit, dude, are you okay?” the rapper asked, plopping down on the couch beside Jay, sandwiching him beside George. “Yeah, dawg, we were worried sick!” Dylan chimed in, leaning up against the back of the couch, looking down at his other bandmates. Jorel subtly blushed; while he knew his friends all too well, they still looked different from what he remembered - aged. Dylan was thin and well-built into his awkward body, sporting shoulder-length wavy hair. Jordon, while slightly slimmer, was still… just Jordon, baby face and all. “I’m fine,” Jorel ensured, wincing when Jordon poked at the staples in his head. “That’s sick looking, man,” Jordon commented, fascinated in the doctor’s work of art. Jorel gave Jordon a small shove away from his head. “Glad you approve,” Jorel chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Danny should be here any minute,” Dylan recalled, covering for the last missing bandmate, “he had to find a sitter for Scarlett and Roman first.” Jorel made a face, “Danny?” Dylan, puzzled, looked to Jordon, who then looked to George. “Yes, Jay. _ Danny. _ The ‘singer of our band for the past nine years’ Danny,” George sighed before moving to get up and reaching for Jordon’s wrist, pulling him back up. “Let’s have a smoke,” he casually said, “Dylan, watch over Jorel, will you?” Jay wrinkled his nose, “I don’t need a babysitter, George.” George simply rolled his eyes and took Jordon out to the front of the house, leaving the two alone. 

“I think Jay’s… experiencing some memory loss,” George said plainly, pulling his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Jordon eyed the cigarettes, and then back up to George. The larger rolled his eyes, pulling out a second stick and handing it to his boyfriend. Jordon placed the cigarette between his lips, George proceeding to flick on his lighter to light the end. “What do you mean?” Jordon asked after his first drag, a cloud of smoke escaping through his nostrils. “Just as it sounds, idiot,” George sighed, “He just doesn’t remember shit right now. It took him a few seconds but he remembered your and Dylan’s names... along with Aron’s. He actually didn’t even remember Vanessa at all.” Jordon took another drag, removing the cigarette from his lips. “He didn’t remember his own wife?” Jordon asked, flicking the filter of the cigarette with his fingertip, discarding ash from the end. George shook his head, “He seems… really concerned about Aron’s whereabouts.” Jordon snorted, half smiling, “Why?” George shrugged. “I guess he still thinks they’re buddies. Which means, he probably still thinks he’s in the band.” Finally getting it, Jordon looked to the ground, kicking the front of his shoe against the pavement. It seemed like they were going to be dealing with a lot more than just a small bump on the head. 

“Hey, guys! Sorry I’m late!” Danny called from his parked vehicle, shutting the door behind him and jogging up to his two bandmates smoking. “How is he?” the pink and blonde-haired man asked in a slight pant, reaching for the doorknob of Jay’s home, ready to head inside. “Hold up, Dan,” George held a hand up, hesitating. Danny froze, frowning as he turned to face George. George looked to Jordon, who looked back down to the ground; he wanted _ no _ part in explaining the fuckery of the situation to Danny. “Thanks for the help, dip,” George shook his head at Jordon, before putting his eyes back on their singer. “Like I said in the group text,” George started, shrugging his shoulder up. “Jay took a little hit to the head. And when I say a little, I mean he’s a little fucked up right now.” Danny folded his arms in front of his chest, rubbing his biceps with his palms. “I don’t understand,” their singer responded, feeling disheartened. George frowned, “He doesn’t… remember a whole lot right now. He remembers us to an extent but I'm not sure how much he _ really _ knows and understands. He doesn’t remember his wedding. He doesn’t remember kicking Aron out and you taking over… I think he’s picked back up from our lives in 2008.” 

Danny’s smile was non-existent. Surely Jorel would’ve remembered all of the memories they made together as longtime friends, as bandmates, as brothers. Danny nodded, heeding George’s warning before turning back towards the door. He entered inside, where he found Dylan and Jorel on the couch; Dylan held a lit joint, trying to pass it to their injured bassist. Jorel slumped into the couch and held up a declining hand, his head slightly throbbing from the meds and numbing agents wearing off. Danny put on a happy face as he stepped further inside the house and over to his friend, kneeling down in front of him. “Hey Jay, how are you feeling?” 

Jorel blinked once and narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the face. His memories were so blurry, but this face was _so_ familiar. Familiar, aside from the pink top of hair, and the tattoos that graced the mystery man’s attractive face. Jorel tilted his head to the side, trying to attempt at another angle. “It’s Danny, Jorel. _D a n n y,_” Danny reiterated, poking himself in the chest. Jay’s eyes suddenly went wide, flinching back slightly, “Daniel Murillo?” Danny’s smile quickly returned, nodding his head quickly. “Yeah! That’s right!” he more or less giggled, moving off of the floor and into the empty space on the couch beside Jorel. Jay couldn’t stop staring at Danny; this was his childhood friend Daniel? Lorene Drive Daniel? _Why does he look like such a… fuck boy? _Danny grinned and held out his hand, as if asking for a handshake, “Jay, gimme your hand.” Jorel looked at the man skeptically before putting his hand to Danny’s. “Look!” the singer cheered, Jorel growing surprised at the sight of their hands; they had matching beer mugs, clinking together when they were held close. Jay looked back up to Danny, his eyes reading the ‘Undead’ tattoo that rested just above Danny’s eyebrow. “You must… really like the band,” Jorel chuckled, trying to not sound as awkward and confused as he felt. The singer giggled, reaching up to touch at his healing tattoo. “Well, I would hope so. I’m in it!” Jorel looked over to Dylan; the rapper gave a confirming nod. “So, we have two singers now?” Both Danny and Dylan visually cringed. 

George and Jordon soon reentered the house, all eyes on them. “Gee, could you _ please _ explain to Jay why we don't hang out with you-know-who anymore?” Dylan spoke up with a whine, looking to George. George sighed, leaving Jordon’s side and stepping over to the couch. He smacked Dylan’s upper arm, telling him to get out of ‘his’ spot. “Look, Jay… Aron’s not in the band. There were serious issues and we kicked him out. This happened _ years _ ago, man.” Jorel went quiet, straight-lipped. “He berated us, accused us—” “He fuckin’ took us to court, dude!” Dylan blurted out. George looked over at Dylan, “I’m handling this, man!” Dylan sulked in response. “What I’m trying to get at, Jay - is that, whoever you may be thinking Aron is or was, he’s _ not _ that person you know anymore. He’s a dipshit. We aren’t friends with the guy, and it’ll likely always stay that way. He’s done way too much damage that can’t be fixed.”

Jorel’s leg fidgeted and his jaw locked in place. He really didn't like the way that George spoke of Aron; there was no way anything he was saying was true. Aron… _his_ Aron was sweet, loving, and kind. Jorel knew that _his_ Aron would never go behind his back, just as he would never even think of going behind his. _His_ Aron always promised that they’d never part. “Jorel, I know it’s a lot to take it right now. But once you start healing and gradually getting your memories back… things will make a lot more sense,” George concluded, placing a supportive hand to Jay’s shoulder. “Who you see around you is your band, your closest friends. You have a solid career, man. Five records, a house, and a family of your own. We’ve come a long way since our younger days.” The rest of the band all nodded in agreeance. “So, you need to start gettin’ those memories back soon, because I’d hate for you to only remember me by the stupid shit I did back then,” Jordon chuckled, George shooting him a glance. “Jordon, you _still_ do stupid shit. All the time!” 

\----

Jorel, mentally and physically exhausted, frowned when he looked down at his phone. He tried to flip it like a SideKick, with no avail. He tapped the button, the phone immediately illuminating. His text to Aron an hour earlier had gone completely unanswered. _ Maybe the guys were telling the truth… _ Jorel slumped into the side of the couch, George noticing his growing fatigue. “Alright, guys, let’s start wrapping it up. I’m sure Jorel would like to get some sleep, he’s had a long fuckin’ day.” Danny nodded, looking down at his watch. “Yeah… I should probably relieve that last-minute babysitter. Roman starts getting cranky around this time.” He leaned in and gave Jorel a friendly hug, leaning his head against Jay’s shoulder. “Feel better soon, Jay. I know you’ll be back to your ol’ self in no time.” Danny cooed, arms starting to squeeze when Dylan decided to join in, too. 

With the other three preoccupied, Jordon moved to stand next to George, smiling as he watched Jorel nearly get suffocated by their bandmates. “Are you…gonna come by tonight?” Jordon asked in a near whisper, peeking a glance up at George. The latter kept a straight face, keeping intense blue eyes on the others. “I read that you shouldn’t leave someone with a concussion alone, so I’m probably going to stay here for the night, just as a precaution. Make sure he’s alright and gets through the first night with no problems.” Jordon’s smile fell to a frown, the rapper giving a quiet nod. George, noticing his reaction, sighed and placed an arm around Jordon. His hand and fingers discreetly rubbed the back of the other’s neck and into his hair; it was the only display of affection he could give Jordon while their other friends were around.

“Thanks for coming over, guys. Appreciate it,” Jorel said once he pried himself free from Danny and Dylan’s embrace. He gave a small wave. “Later, J-Dog!” Dylan called as he headed towards the door behind Danny, Jordon leaving George’s side to follow, he was Dylan’s ride home. Danny reached for the doorknob first, pulling it open so that they could head out. Only, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a surprising figure standing in the doorway. The male held his fist up as if in mid-knock, frozen in time and space. Shocked stares were exchanged from both sides of enemy lines. 

It was _ Aron _. 

“What are _ you _ doing here?” Dylan spoke up first, pulling Danny back from the doorway, putting space between them and their ex-bandmate. Jorel, hearing the commotion, peeked his head over the back of the couch. His gaze immediately went to Aron, his soft brown eyes widening. _ Was he really here? _ Aron looked the most different out of any of them; his weight, though not chubby, severely differed from the extremely thin frame Jay remembered him having. His typically clean-shaven face was now covered by a full dark beard. And yet, despite the differences, he was still Aron. _ His _ Aron. 

Jorel felt his face heat up, his legs moving on their own, “Aron!” he called out, stumbling and nearly falling with each step to the door. George flinched; everything was happening way too fast for him and in a matter of a second, Jay fell against their ex-friend's chest, his arms around the back of his neck. “You came!” Jay beamed, trying to regain his balance on his feet, the blush on his face darker and radiating heat. He leaned in, pressing his face gently to Aron’s scruffy beard. Aron blinked, shuddering slightly when he found himself having no choice but to hold his ex-boyfriend’s body up, “Alright, somebody gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

Dylan, still holding his ground, narrowed his eyes. “We could ask _ you _ the same thing!” he spat, folding his arms in front of his chest. Aron should’ve known all too well not to cross their paths. Aron scoffed in response, though soon distracted by Jorel pulling him in tighter, nestling closely into his neck. Aron quickly blushed, grabbing Jay by the shoulders to pull him back. “What the fuck’s gotten into you?” 

George finally stepped up to take back some control of the situation, getting in front of Dylan. “Jay hit his head and forgot how much of an asshole you are,” he stated bluntly, reaching out for Jorel’s shoulder. “No!” Jorel whined, pulling his head out of Aron’s neck to look back at the others. “You all can say whatever the fuck you want about him, but I _ know _ who Aron is,” he frowned, turning his attention back to the other. He lifted a hand to palm his cheek, his fingertips gently brushing against the dark facial hair. “We said we’d never part, remember?” Aron’s eyes widened even further, looking at George, “Okay, I can believe that,” he looked down at Jorel, his cheek twitching at his touch, “Jay, listen…” he began, suddenly silenced when Jorel leaned in to press his lips to his. The others stared, speechless. “The fuuuuck…” Dylan quickly broke the uncomfortable silence.

Aron jerked back, his hands on Jorel’s shoulders tightening. “Can I talk to you,” he looked up at his ex-bandmates, most of them still in a state of utter disbelief. “Alone?” He tugged Jorel out and away from the doorway, dragging him towards the driveway. “But why can’t we…” Jay stated, innocently, “You said we’d tell them about us someday,” the bassist pouted. Aron groaned in frustration and embarrassment, “Jorel, fuckin’... just wait. Okay so, it’s real fuckin’ clear you’ve hit your head but has no one bothered to tell you about what happened between us? Ya know, like ten years ago?” Jorel shook his head, going quiet. Aron sighed, pulling Jorel off of him and took a step away, putting some much-needed space between their bodies. 

Aron sighed, using his hand to cover his eyes in what seemed to be shame, “It was 2009, Swan Songs was doing well and we finally had some money; money that we didn’t have to use solely on survival. I... changed. I’ll admit that. And you... didn’t like it. We had fights, called each other some nasty names and soon enough, we broke up and I was kicked out of the band.” Aron didn't want to look at Jorel’s face, not knowing how his former boyfriend would handle the revelation. Jorel frowned, “We… we broke up?” he asked. Aron answered with a soft nod, keeping his gaze averted from the other’s. Within seconds, Jay reached out, taking Aron’s hand in his. Aron blinked, quickly turning his head to watch as their hands touched. Jorel held the joined hands out between their bodies, lacing their fingers delicately together. “I… may not remember what happened but… that doesn’t matter to me now. I know my feelings for you have never changed…will never change,” Jorel said softly. Aron blushed a deep red, unable to keep from looking towards Jorel’s front door, where all four bandmates watched them from afar. “I want to be with you, Aron. I always want to be with you.” Jorel let their hands drop so he could put his arms back around his ex-boyfriend’s neck, pulling him close. “I can love you just as much I did then. It can be the way it always used to be; the way it’s always _ meant _ to be.” He leaned in, gently pressing his lips to Aron’s once more. This time, Aron didn’t pull back right away - he kissed back, putting ten years of emotion back into their touch. As their lips began to part, Aron pulled back, pressing his forehead to Jay’s. “You’ve… already moved on.” 

Dylan was nearly climbing onto George’s back, attempting to try to get a closer look at Jorel and Aron. “What’s going on?! What are they saying?! Jorel and _ Aron _ ?!” Dylan whisper-yelled, his brown eyes wide at what they were witnessing. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I don’t have super hearing, dipshit,” George nudged Dylan in the ribs, trying to shake him off, “Get off, you’re heavy!” Danny watched his dear friend as he kissed what was now known to be his ex-lover; the pink-haired singer not noticing the drooping frown on his own face. Why did the view make him feel so… sad? “Did… anyone else see this shit coming?” Jordon peeked around the door frame, shaking his head, “Who woulda thought those two were fuckin’ all this time.” George looked over at Jordon, shooting him a _ “don’t even be talking” _ glare. Jordon quickly hushed up, looking back to the show at hand. 

“N-no. What do you mean?” Jorel asked softly, his and Aron’s heads parting. He didn’t want to let go of Aron, always feeling so secure in his arms. Aron sighed, peeling one of Jay’s arms off of him to hold his hand up by the wrist. He held it straight in Jay’s face, so the bassist could see the black wedding band that still sat securely around his ring finger. “You’re _ married _ , Jorel. You… love someone else; someone who isn’t me.” Jorel was taken aback; he looked at the ring, really trying to understand what it meant, but all he saw was just a ring. Nothing more. “But… I don’t _ love _her. I just—I was probably just confused.” Aron shook his head, cutting him off, “No, don’t, Jorel. You moved on from me, met a nice girl and married her. You live a happy life. You just don’t remember it,” he sighed, “You’re only confused right now because you fell on your head ‘n shit. You need to just… forget about me and get on with your life. Just like you already have.”

Jorel appeared physically shaken, his hands slowly leaving the other’s body. He took a step away from Aron, feeling as if he had just received a million stab wounds to his chest. The pain of rejection and denial was so great, and yet all he could think was:_ Is this… how Aron felt? _ Jorel turned without another word, stepping away to head back towards the house. Aron looked to the ground, kicking the dirt at his feet before retreating back to his vehicle. They parted, just as they were meant to. 

Jorel stepped into his house and past his bandmates, silent. Dylan opened his mouth to speak, only to be promptly covered by the hand of George. George shook his head. “See you all tomorrow,” he said quietly, meaning it was time for everyone to go. The bandmates complied, all filing out of the house in a single line. Jordon took one last glance over his shoulder, staying straight-lipped. With a sympathetic look, George smiled sweetly and mouthed the words, “_ I love you. _” Jordon’s round cheeks filled with a gentle blush before turning back to the car, Dylan pulling desperately at the locked door handle. 

The front door was shut, leaving the two men alone. “Do you...” George started, looking at Jorel’s figure; the bassist was hunched forward, holding himself, “...want to talk about it?” George finished. Jorel shook his head, holding himself tighter, “Just,” he choked on his words a bit, “...help me up the stairs? Please. I just wanna sleep.” The older one nodded silently, placing his arm around Jay and leading him up the stairs and to his room. The bedroom was filled with so many horror themed decorations; it nearly scared him. What was worse, was the amount of feminine clothing and accessories he could see from just a glance around the room. It all made Jorel sick to his stomach, despite the photographs on the wall that clearly depicted his perfect life with his significant other; his significant other who _ wasn’t _ Aron. Tiger, along with two other cats were scattered around the room, all seemingly waiting for their owner to join them in the bed. Jay sighed as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, wincing when he brushed against his staples. The slight pain was just enough to push Jorel over his edge, reaching up into his hair he let out a pained groan, choked sobs following. George watched in agony, his clear frown showing concern for his tortured friend. _ The sooner he remembers, the better _. “Good night, Jorel,” George whispered quietly, closely the door behind him. He knew Jorel needed to be alone. 

\----

Sleep was hard to come by; the bed felt far too big and empty while Jorel’s mind raced and his head throbbed. Tiger slept just above his head, the animal’s subtle snoring the only source of comfort that he could find in that moment. Jorel found himself hating how the way things were, how things ended up being. He dreaded the day when his memories would come flooding back to him. The fact of the matter was that he no longer _ wanted _ to remember. He just wanted… things to be the way they were. The way he wanted things to be. Jorel clutched onto his pillow, feeling another wave of emotions flood through him. He held his eyes shut tightly as he felt them begin to well up with unwanted tears. 

Suddenly, there was a ding. 

Jorel quickly sat up from where he laid, seeing the illumination of his phone light up in the pitch blackness of the room. Jorel reached out for the device, another ding sounding to remind him that he had an incoming text message waiting. The bassist wiped at his puffy brown eyes as he read the text message: _ Meet me outside. _

It was from Aron. 

Jorel hesitated as he stared at the message, rereading it over and over as if he was looking for something missing from it; a hidden clue. He climbed out of bed and pulled on a shirt, slipping on his sneakers before rushing down the steps. George slept on the couch, snoring much longer than Tiger was. Jorel made sure to be as quiet as possible, tip-toeing slowly towards the front door. He turned the lock at a snail’s pace until it clicked, releasing the deadbolt. One last glance over his shoulder, he turned the knob, cracking it and pulling it open. George grumbled in his sleep, causing Jorel to tense and pause, but ultimately, the ‘big brother’ of the band stayed asleep, turning over to face a different direction. Jorel sighed heavily in relief, slipping his thin frame through the door and into the darkness of the night. 

He blinked, squinting his eyes as he looked around his front yard. The street was dark, aside from one or two street lamps that lit up their respective corners. That’s when he noticed the car out by the curb; all the lights were off but the passenger’s side door was held wide open. Jorel could make out the outline of a body sitting in the seat, a small light from the stranger's phone lighting up their facial features. Jorel held his breath as the face turned to look towards him, finally moving from the seat of the car. “Aron?” Jorel called out, whispering in the night. The figure continued to step towards him until he was close enough to where Jorel could accurately identify him. “Aron,” Jay sighed, his lips still holding a frown despite his heart leaping by the other’s presence. Aron was quiet, finally showing an emotion: a smile. “I thought… we could have one last ‘last time,’” the older male grinned, holding up two forty ounces of Mickey’s, giving them a little shake. Jorel’s frown diminished, matching Aron’s expression. He nodded softly. 

Finding the perfect ledge that backed up to the chain-link fence, the two climbed. It took a little bit more effort, considering they weren’t quite as young as they used to be. They helped and pulled each other up to the roof of the house, settling down against the shingles at the highest point. Aron handed Jorel one of the bottles, unscrewing the top of his own. “Remember how...we’d wait until everyone went to sleep? Climbed the roof? Looked at the stars?” Aron asked, tilting his head back to look up at the clear Los Angeles sky. He raised the bottle, taking a long swig. He had looked at the sky so many times before but for some reason, tonight’s sky looked the most beautiful. “It was really the only alone time we got with each other. Especially while touring.” Jorel added, nodding his head. He remembered those nights all so clearly. “I remember you almost falling off the tour bus roof, y’know, when we were ‘wrestling’ and rolling around. I caught you and pulled you back in just the nick of time.” Aron quickly shook his head, giving Jay’s shoulder a nudge with his own. “That was _ you _ that almost fell, dumbass!”

The laughter soon faded, Aron’s smile disappearing as he went quiet. His face was still turned up towards the stars, admiring them. “Remember how we sat on the roof… that final time? The night before we…” Aron paused. Jorel scooted in and leaned his head down against Aron’s shoulder. He gently shook his head, still not remembering that regretful night. “That night wasn’t as beautiful,” Aron whispered, moving his arm to wrap around Jorel’s shoulders, pulling him closely into his side - just as they always used to do. “We shared one last drink, one last smoke, one last argument...” Aron continued. His voice held of tone of hurt, like a man trying to hold himself together. “I don’t think either of us expected that to be the last time we’d do this.” 

The two men sat there quietly again for a while. There was nothing more to be said between them; they both knew they couldn’t change the present, just as they knew they couldn’t change the past. The only thing they did know, was that they could hold on to the here and now, embracing each other like they always used to do. Aron ran his fingers through Jorel’s hair, his fingers soothingly rubbing at his scalp and across the staples of Jorel’s wound, being careful not to hurt him. “I’m… going to miss this… all over again,” Jorel spoke softly, finally pulling out of Aron’s neck, where he had his face comfortably nestled. Aron looked back at Jorel, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.”

Aron reached out next to him for his forty ounce, looking down at it in his hand. He looked to Jorel with a smile. “To… old memories,” Aron concluded as he held his bottle out, tapping it to the side of Jorel’s. Jay smiled, tapping his bottle right back. “...And to new ones.” Both men leaned in then, closing their eyes as their lips touched for a gentle kiss. They looked out to the horizon as the sun slowly began to rise, the sky showing a brilliant display of blues, purples, and yellows. They stayed on the roof until the sun shined on a brand new day. One last “last time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m aronkaneburns on tumblr and my buddy is wineandweens too


End file.
